Political, personal and sometimes experimental writing from a lawyer, parent, muso and cat wrangler. Critical security; regulation in the era of disruption; public ethics; child rights; anacruses to arpeggios; and, regardless of the subject, beautiful writing wherever it appears.
Also at https://twitter.com/armagny - I follow back unless you are a bot or a spruiker.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Which ones? Dunno, the ones that write all the rules. Like the ones that mean you have to put the baby down half the time, make sure she's in her cot when she sleeps, et sarte.

Clearly babies have evolved to be suited, at optimum, to being in a room by themselves in a cot. You don't see Gorillas holding their little ones constantly do you? No, good, moving along.

I mean, could it just be possible that between the rituals and enforced separation and parents who have to go to work at 8 and arrive home at fucking 7 and spend a total of about 10 minutes every day with the daughter they'd cut their own leg off with a blunt saw for and mothers at mothers' group with $3000 prams who'd probably let go of them if they saw a pile of cash and all the other bullshit that's evolved into the standard, could it be possible we see an inkling of why politicians end up having to vie for power by kicking the downtrodden for the edification of the empathetically retarded moral majority?

Could it be? I don't know, I know nothing anymore, 'cept I'm not happy with the status quo and a huge readjustment of my concept of what constitutes reasonable hours of work looms as quickly as my negotiating power can be harnessed.

She sleeps now, a bliss bomb. Last night, the most beautiful thing.... at 4am she cried, and I went to her, and she sounded different, so I called out to beloved and she came too, and when we were both standing over her little bear stopped, and looked at us, eyes wide open, and started to speak... nothing cogent, but the message was clear: here, now, is where I want you both.

I'm putty whenever I think of her, I'm going to be stuffed at discipline, but I think I figured that out and blogged it ages ago.

Still well up at the work safe ad. Still nowhere near tired of the sound of her voice, even when screaming or crying.

And I miss you all, don't get to read much blogosphere at the moment, feel free to update me on your news right here if you've got any...

Well I sit down for the first time in eons with a few minutes to blog, and, and, I decide to update my new I-POD at the same time, and, and, it puts some bullshit nonsensical message up on the screen about not being able to update and the computer doesn't 'recognise' it is there, and, and, so now I'm trying not to get pissed off at an inanimate object and a few hundred geeks in the US who make millions and don't give a toss about the pain in the arse their gadget can be.

So I need a few more moments of calming and self-distraction before writing something useful.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

David Jones aren't into Corporate Paedophilia. They play no role sexualising children, or using sexualised images of children in advertising. And just to prove it they are suing the Australia Institute. For a detailed discussion see LP, but I'm just worried about the damage it could do their image to draw attention to their advertising practises in this way. Surely no-one out there will see the contentious images, or clothes David Jones sell to little children, and draw the conclusion that they are purveyors of corporate paedophilia, right? Anyway, just to help this great Australian company succeed, I thought I'd contribute my modest google standings to their campaign by making the point clearly here: David Jonesdo not indulge in Corporate Paedophilia. Never. Corporate Paedophilia, not DJs, not ever.

Reports that Jeremywill run the Oz Institute's case pro bono remain, at this point, unconfirmed.

1 month today, happy birthday sweetheart. I love you more than life itself. Hang in there little one, it's a muddy old world, but we're gonna leave the best footprints we can and have a tonne of fun in the process.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Pain is not seeing your bear all day. In the morning she's feeding as soon as you get up, and resting between feeds as you leave. You get home, it's evening, she's feeding. After, she's asleep. Then she wakes after a good sleep. Sleep is good. You change her, you hold her to comfort her. She looks at you like 'you're the guy who used to be around all the time but isn't any more' then wriggles and cries until mum takes her off you. You go to bed. You get up in the morning, she's feeding, you pull on an iron-free business shirt, button the cuffs, understand why people buy lottery tickets...

Smiling moments include when you get up to go to the bathroom at 5am and she starts crying and you go into her room and pick her up and hold her to your chest and sing her Hallelujah and she stops crying and her little hands squeeze your chest hairs and you feel her go calm and you put her down after 10 minutes and she is already deeply asleep.

The pain is like having an oxy-torch going inside your intestines. The smiling moments are like snowballs made from white chocolate ice cream.